And he’d spent the past few months trying to purge those very demons, the secrets, from his life by burying himself into work. He’d thrown his back into repairing fences and cleaning out buildings during the day and worked on a book at night. He figured he had an intimate take on the 21 Killer and already had some publishers interested in the story. That is, if he had the guts to go through reporting all the ritualistic murders knowing full well that his own twin brother was the monster behind the bizarre homicides. If he needed help, Kristi Bentz, the detective’s daughter was already a true crime writer and she’d suggested a collaboration. He was considering it. Who knew?

As for his job at the Observer? He’d let it go. Let Meri-Jo have the crime beat. He didn’t need it any longer. Didn’t want it. Time for a fresh start.

He figured he needed some time to himself, to adjust to this new life, to figure out where he’d go from here. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t think of Brianna, but he tried to keep that at a minimum.

The dog was barking again and this time the hound’s attention was focused on the lane.

Jase pushed himself upright and walked around the wraparound porch to the side of the building where the late-afternoon sun was bouncing off the windshield of a small car driving toward the house. He squinted and told himself that he was hallucinating, because the compact sure looked like a Honda, and the woman behind the wheel was a dead ringer for Brianna Hayward.

No way.

He drained his beer and left the empty on the porch.

Barking and yipping, the hound bounded over the dry grass of the field before slithering under the bottom fence rail while Jase cut along the path leading to the parking area near the garage.

The Honda ground to a stop, and sure enough, Brianna climbed from behind the wheel.

His heart did a stupid little thump. God, he was an idiot.

“So,” she said, shielding her eyes with the flat of a hand as she approached. Wearing a T-shirt, skirt, and sandals, she was as gorgeous as he remembered. “You’re a cowboy now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He couldn’t help but grin. “Seems to me someone suggested I wasn’t cut out to be a buttoned-down type.”

“You aren’t.” She hesitated. Bit her lip. Seemed about to turn away from him and flee back the way she came before she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Listen, Bridges, I don’t know how to say this, but . . . I’ve thought about everything that happened.” Her mouth turned down and she squinted a bit, still held his gaze. “It was bad. Really bad.”

“No argument there.”